


Midnight Summons

by starduster



Category: Aldnoah.Zero (Anime)
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2018-03-06 23:19:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3152069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starduster/pseuds/starduster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Slaine doesn't exactly feel good about being called to Cruhteo's chambers in the middle of the night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Midnight Summons

Even if he doesn’t know the reason he’s been summoned to Cruhteo’s chambers in the dead of night, Slaine’s sure it’s nothing good.  He’s never been called out of his room by the count this late at night, woken by the blinking, buzzing call-light telling him that he’s being paged to Cruhteo’s private apartments.  So he had dressed quickly, trying to suppress the tremors in his thin frame as he moved through the silent Castle, boots clicking loudly on the metal floors. 

He knocks briskly at the door, shivering unconsciously as he hears Cruhteo call him in.  The count is perched on the settee in his sitting room, a half-empty whiskey glass held lazily in one hand, eyes focused on melting ice cubes as they slide about in the dark amber liquid.  His gaze shifts up to meet Slaine’s and he sets the glass gently on the fine grain of the synthetic wood coffee table beside a nearly empty whiskey bottle. 

Slaine stands uncomfortably at attention, hands crossed behind his back, spine ramrod straight.  He doesn’t trust the way Cruhteo’s eyes roam over his body, nor the pink tinge of drunkenness riding high on his cheeks.  His gaze is not unkind and the usual steely blue of his eyes almost seems a touch warmer, but maybe’s it’s the alcohol.

After a long moment, Cruhteo sighs.  “At ease, Troyard.”

Slaine only barely relaxes, letting his arms fall to his sides.  “What is it, milord?” And there’s Cruhteo’s eyes sliding over his skin again, and if he’d had his usual grumpy countenance he’d look almost predatory.

Cruhteo stands, walking slowly, wobbling drunkly up to Slaine.  He raises a hand and rests it gently on Slaine’s cheek, and his thumb strokes slowly across his skin.  His eyes are fixed intently on Slaine’s, and he almost looks _hungry_ as he appraises Slaine’s features.  “Take off your clothes.”

_What?_

“M-milord, I—“

A sharp slap to his cheek, not nearly as hard as Cruhteo usually hits him but painful nonetheless.  His eyes widen as Cruhteo’s narrow.  “Don’t make me repeat myself.”  Cruhteo’s voice is steely, cold, but wavering through his drunkenness. 

Shaking noticeably now, Slaine nods, raising trembling hands to begin working at the buttons of his jacket.  Cruhteo returns to his place on the settee, taking another drink from his glass and letting a hand rest on his crotch.

_Oh god._

Swallowing heavily, Slaine undoes the last of the jacket buttons and lets the heavy fabric drop to the floor, trying resolutely to ignore the slow movement of Cruhteo’s hand, the way his breathing changes subtly.  Next off come his boots, then his undershirt and trousers, and with a final shudder he drops his underwear and steps gingerly out of them.  He can feel Cruhteo’s gaze burning on his skin and squeezes his eyes shut in shame.  There’s a soft rustle of fabric as Cruhteo stands and walks towards him once more. 

“On your knees.”

Slaine obeys wordlessly, opening his eyes only to see the very prominent tent in Cruhteo’s trousers right in his face.  Cruhteo, uncharacteristically gentle, runs a hand slowly through Slaine’s hair, fingers sliding between soft strands and brushing gently against Slaine’s scalp.  His expression is soft again, more bored than irritated, but it’s a welcome change, given the situation that Slaine’s found himself in. 

“I trust you’ve figured out what I want you to do.”

“Y-yes, milord.”  With trembling hands Slaine raises his hands to Cruhteo’s belt, fumbling with the buckle and struggling awkwardly until the count mercifully does it himself.  Slaine’s hands grasp the thin steel of the zipper, dragging it slowly down until Cruhteo’s hardness springs out at him, angry and erect.  His breath catches in his throat and he tries to will away the tears he can feel pricking at the corners of his eyes. 

Steeling his resolve, Slaine hesitantly wraps his fingers around the shaft, letting his hand slide in a loose fist down the hard flesh, like he’s done on himself on occasion.  His mind is blank, like he can’t even think at all, and it’s taking all of his willpower not to just lay down on the plush carpet and cry.  But that’d mean one hell of a beating, and he’d rather not have to go through his servant duties with broken bones again, so he swallows his pride and gets to work.  He delicately slides back the foreskin, letting the pink head peek forth.  Cruhteo’s quite well-endowed, and Slaine shudders at the thought of what he’s sure Cruhteo will do to him after this. 

He hears the count sigh softly, pleasurably, and takes it as a sign that he’s not doing anything wrong.  Fingers still card through his hair, and when he chances a glance up he finds Cruhteo gazing down at him contently, and he nods solemnly down at Slaine.  His heart is hammering in his chest, knowing what he’s expected to do now, and Slaine’s free hand curls anxiously against his thigh.  He’s also minutely aware of the fact that his own shaft is starting to harden, but he forces the thought out of his head.

Leaning forward ever so slightly he gently presses his lips to the head, letting his lips part around the hard flesh as he takes him into his mouth.  His face screws up at the taste but he continues moving, letting his tongue press flat against the count’s prick as he bobs his head slowly.  He doesn’t know jack shit about giving a blowjob, really.  All he knows is from what he’s seen in the occasional porno magazine he’s found lying around and from that one tape he found buried in a storeroom that’s now stashed away beneath his mattress.  It can’t be terribly hard, Slaine figures.

His hand is curled loosely around the base of Cruhteo’s cock as he takes him an inch further in, sucking in a breath through his nose and trying to adjust to the fullness occupying his mouth.  He sucks gently, letting the slow movements of his lips and tongue do more of the work.  Cruhteo’s hips jerk and thrust in another couple inches of cock, and Slaine nearly gags.  But Cruhteo just lets out a ragged breath, curls his fingers tightly into Slaine’s hair.  “No slowing down, now, you’re doing fine.”

One of his hands settles at the base of Slaine’s skull and pushes gently, and Slaine swallows around his gag reflex as Cruhteo pushes into his throat.  Even worse, he feels the cold leather of the Count’s boot nudge his erection.  “Touch yourself for me,” he whispers huskily as his hips start to thrust very, very slowly.

His mouth and throat full of cock and his nose pressed into coarse curls, touching himself is the farthest thing from Slaine’s mind, but if it pulls him one step further away from a beating then so be it.  Reaching down he wraps his hand about himself, pulling slowly and moaning lowly around Cruhteo’s cock.  Cruhteo responds with a groan and his thrusts become faster, rougher.  There’s a salty, sour taste in his throat and Slaine wonders if Cruhteo’s going to come in his mouth as he fucks his face.  His answer comes when Cruhteo’s breathing stutters harshly and his hips still and salty liquid bursts into his throat.  He pulls out roughly and Slaine swallows hard, forcing the bitter liquid down before bursting into racking coughs.  His throat feels raw, rightfully so, and he massages his neck gingerly. 

Cruhteo’s breathing hard, standing in front of him and gazing down with narrowed eyes.  Slaine looks up at him through wet lashes and lets out a final harsh cough.  To his surprise Cruhteo bends down and kisses him almost gently on the lips, a stark contrast to his prior rough movements.  It’s almost relaxing to Slaine, and he finds himself closing his eyes as Cruhteo’s tongue presses into his mouth.  One of Cruhteo’s hands wraps around his bicep and pulls him gently to his feet.

“You performed quite admirably,” Cruhteo murmurs, and his fingers stroke gently across Slaine’s neck.  “But I’m not done with you yet.”  He moves away, striding down the hall that leads to his bedroom.  “Come, Slaine.”

Slaine wipes at his mouth and eyes with the back of his hand, sniffling as he follows the Count down the dark hall.  The foul taste of semen still clings to his tongue, and his throat is raw and tender.  His knees hurt from where they were digging into the carpet, and his scalp stings where Cruhteo had clutched his hair.

_And that was only the blowjob._

Cruhteo is already undressing when Slaine enters the bedroom.  He’s stripping quickly and efficiently, and doesn’t pay a glance to Slaine when he comes in.  “Lie down on the bed,” he says brusquely, kicking out of his boots and tossing his cravat onto the floor.  “Get in the nightstand and grab the lubricant.”

“Yes, milord.” Slaine crawls onto the big bed and fleetingly marvels at the luxurious softness of the sheets.  It’s almost comforting, to know he’s going to be brutally fucked on such a soft bed.  With a tired sigh he reaches over to the nightstand, yanking the draw open and rummaging inside.  He finds the little tube of lubricant and lays down on his back, turning the bottle over in his hands. 

_At least he’s giving me this,_ he thinks, closing his eyes and trying not to imagine Cruhteo fucking him with that huge thing dry.  A quick glance down his body reveals that yes, his terror-boner is still unfortunately there, standing up obliviously proud.  He almost wants to cry again but doesn’t, instead opting to run his fingers lazily down his shaft.  His fingers wander down to his asshole, prodding curiously.  He’d never even considered fingering himself but now it appears he’ll have to face the music. 

The bed dips as Cruhteo joins him, and the Count snags the lubricant out of his hands.  Wordlessly he spreads the gel over a couple of fingers, smearing even more on his once-again-hard cock.  Slaine turns his face away when the first finger touches him, cold and slick against his asshole before pushing in roughly.  He screws his eyes shut at the unpleasant intrusion, tightening his fingers around his cock and tugging half-heartedly in an attempt to block out the dull ache.  The first questing finger is quickly joined by a second and third that thrust in and stretch him open, poking and prodding and spreading his flesh unpleasantly.  Slaine’s almost certain he’s going to go limp before those fingers shove into something that sends a shock up his spine, and he gasps at the sudden sensation.  Apparently pleased, Cruhteo’s fingers jam into the same spot over and over, all while twisting and stretching.

Slaine can feel his orgasm start to mount when Cruhteo’s fingers slip out, and he groans in frustration.  Cruhteo laughs.  He kneels between Slaine’s parted legs and grasps his ankles, settling them on top of his shoulders.  Slaine watches him carefully, panting hard, as Cruhteo lines himself up.  His eyes flicker up to meet Slaine’s, and he gives him a cruel little smile. 

“Now, if you’ll just relax, this will be much better for both of us.”

He pushes in, slowly, slowly, as Slaine’s back arches and his mouth hangs open in a silent cry.  It hurts, terribly, and he raises his arms and shoves at Cruhteo’s chest in a futile attempt to push him off.  The Count takes no notice, thrusting slowly and shallowly, eyes closed and breathing heavy.  Slaine can feel the tears finally break from the corners of his eyes and slide down his cheeks, and he wipes furiously at them despite the pain crawling up his spine. 

As Cruhteo’s thrusts pick up speed he wraps his hand around Slaine’s prick and jerks him off roughly, a startlingly kind gesture that Slaine’s grateful for nonetheless.  He opens his eyes, his own gaze meeting Cruhteo’s, and he bites his lip as the little waves of pleasure roll past the pain.  Suddenly Cruhteo rams up against that spot again and Slaine keens, back arching and hips thrusting back against Cruhteo.  The Count grins, releasing Slaine’s cock and battering into him relentlessly. 

Every thrust hammers into his prostate and Slaine can feel his balls tightening as his orgasm comes rocketing towards him.  His world narrows down to the pleasure coursing through him, and for a brief blissful moment he’s not lying in his superior’s bed being brutally fucked but floating on a cloud before he tumbles over that cliff, before the line breaks and he comes, harder than he thinks he’s ever come before, fluid splattering his stomach as his cock jerks and twitches.

He’s minutely aware of Cruhteo still pounding into him, an unpleasant pressure in his ass, but he’s too busy floating on his orgasm and trying not to pass out.  Finally Cruhteo slams into him a final time and Slaine feels him pulse and twitch within him, sticky wet heat filling him up. 

Cruhteo stays within him for a moment, arms braced on either side of Slaine’s head, before dropping his head and pressing a final kiss, almost like an afterthought, to Slaine’s forehead.  He pulls out and moves off to Slaine’s side, letting the boy’s legs drop boneless onto the mattress.

Slaine curls onto his side, breathing hard, feeling the slick ooze of Cruhteo’s seed leaking out of him.  His own come is cooling on his belly, quickly becoming uncomfortable but Slaine doesn’t trust himself –or his bedmate - enough to move yet.  He can hear Cruhteo’s own ragged breathing behind him as the count rests against the headboard, and he flinches in surprise when Cruhteo finally speaks. 

“You may stay, if you wish.”  Cruhteo sighs.  “I suppose I’d rather have someone spot you leaving my chambers in the morning rather than limping out of them in the middle of the night.”

“Thank you, milord,” Slaine murmurs through his roughened throat.  He bends enough to grasp the sheet and drag it over himself, wincing at the sharp pain that spikes up his spine even at that tiny motion.  Cruhteo chuckles lowly behind him.  A moment later the heavier, luxurious comforter is pulled over him and a pillow shoved beneath his head.  Blinking in surprise, Slaine turns his head to look questioningly at the count.  Cruhteo says nothing.  

It’s almost refreshing to see a look other than disapproval or irritation on Cruhteo’s face, even if the relaxed, content expression looks foreign on him.  Despite it Slaine feels a growing unease in himself as a question nags at his muddled brain.

“Milord,” he says, voice barely louder than a whisper.  “May I ask you something?”

“If you wish.”

“Why did you… do this… with me?”

Cruhteo is silent for a moment before exhaling slowly.  “When we left you Terrans back on Earth and took Mars for ourselves we came to consider ourselves superior.  We are stronger, smarter, and yet we still retained the petty intolerances of our predecessors.”  Slaine can practically hear Cruhteo frowning.  “I would not be arrested for bedding another man on Vers, no, but I assure you that if anyone were to discover it my knighthood would be taken from me in a heartbeat.  I am not ashamed of my attractions, but I certainly can’t do much about it without the use of servants who won’t speak a word to others.”

Slaine’s eyes remain fixed on the rich synthetic wood paneling on the walls as he takes in Cruhteo’s words, letting them slide sluggishly around in his brain.  _He can’t do this with anyone else, so he rapes his servants._

Although Slaine’s a bit hesitant to call it ‘rape,’ now; even though he’d been opposed to it at first, the last bits of orgasmic afterglow are still filtering through him, and he can’t honestly say the encounter was unpleasant.  And even if it was because Cruhteo was drunk he was uncharacteristically gentle, even if Slaine’s pleasure was the last thing on the count’s mind. 

_He was lonely, so he found someone who will deal with him._

The thought lingers in Slaine’s head until sleep overtakes him.

 

He wakes early, hours before the Count, and slips silently out of bed, ignoring the ache in his nether regions and the crusted mess on his stomach and thighs.  He dresses quietly and leaves, rushing back to the servants’ quarters to try and shower before anyone notices him. 

Throughout the day a characteristically grumpy Cruhteo treats him like any other day, punching him for minor infractions, calling him a worthless Terran and ignoring him.  He’s quite obviously hungover, and Slaine wonders if Cruhteo even remembers what happened.

He wonders and wonders until he spies Cruhteo watching him one night with the same lustful eyes, until the call-light in his room buzzes on once again and Slaine knows he’s well and truly fucked.

**Author's Note:**

> Because I am literal trash I fucking adore Cruhteo, but I'm such a fluff fag that I had to make him drunk just to make him a little less rapey. And who doesn't like seeing Slaine have a hard time?


End file.
